The Sundering of Thunderdeep
by alfredtg
Summary: The tides of Chaos rise and ebb, as does the power of its champions. Armies rise and fall, empires fall to ruin at the whims of Dark Powers. All the glory and power shall fall away in the end, giving way only to the laughter of thirsting Gods...


Pillars of smoke rose far higher than any column built by man, billowing above the once-impregnable holdfast of Thunderdeep. Once a monument to the strength of men in unity, able to overcome the unknowable and implacable horrors of chaos, now reduced to a monument of man's folly by the self-same chaos. Even the strongest walls fall easily when assaulted from within, and the wills of the men within the fortress-city were far weaker than the walls around it. Guards nearby looked on in dread as their monolithic iron-wrought gate swung open, fortelling their doom. Cultists and madmen aplenty allowed the free entry of a loathsome chaos lord in through secret betrayal. As horrors and damned slaves poured into the fortress's outer defenses, these cultists threw themselves upon the Stormcast Eternals guarding the upper levels of the city's defense to prove their devotion. When the Chaos Lord tired of their mad dash to death, and reasoned that the defenders had worn themselves somewhat, he and his retinue of chaos warriors set themselves upon their worthy foes for the glory of their hateful gods. Blessed with unholy strength and fresh to the fight, the warriors of chaos easily overcame their hated rivals, the warriors of Sigmar, and stormed the upper citadel. Left unprotected, the city was subjected to the tender mercies of Chaos. The Slaves to Darkness were revelling in slaughtering the defenseless and committing other unspeakable acts.

The triumphant Chaos Lord Asdrubael looked over his loyal followers, allowing himself a slight upturn of the lips at their revelry. He was satisfied-not only with his warriors contentment in their ill-gotten spoils, but that their gods would be pleased by the display of unholy fealty. Asdrubael reclined upon his rotting throne of corpses. While this throne was not particularly comfortable, it did afford a generous view of the dying city before him. Where upwards his lips once turned, downwards they again fell at the displeasing sight before him. The lowly cultists that allowed his free passage, robbing him of a glorious siege, dared to loot and pillage without his allowance, and began their own backwards methods of honoring the gods! Asdrubael's brow furrowed in displeasure as his face contorted into a vicious sneer, but quickly reset itself to a more composed expression.

"Silak, come forth!" the reclining warlord bellowed.

A moment passed before a warrior separated from the now quiet host and presented herself before her lord, "What troubles you my lord? Do we not revel as the gods desire?"

Asdrubael almost laughed at the thought, "No, my servant, you do good works in their name. No, it is not you or my warriors that displease, it is these cultists that scurry before me, running rampant and doing as they please!"

The Exalted Hero turned towards the lower levels of the city and looked upon the chaos there, "Yes, they have not come before you yet, have they? Do they not know proper respect?"

The Lord shifted and snorted dismissively, "These cultists are all the same. They think chaos exists to satisfy their desires, to bring their wishes into reality. If there were even a single truly devoted soul among them, they would be here, bowing before me and begging for mercy!"

Asdrubael had worked himself into a rage-he rose from his throne, as though to march into the streets and slay every cultist himself. Before taking a step further, the Chaos Lord visibly restrained himself, sinking back into his putrefying throne. He thought aloud, "No, we shall wait for these pathetic creatures to come before us in their own time, as they inevitably shall. They fear the madness of the realm beyond these walls and will look to us to protect them, ignorant to the fact that they let that madness in already."

The warriors returned to their revelry, aware of their master's intentions and eager for the slaughter to come. The Exalted Hero Brezhart rose but did not turn from her master, awaiting further direction.

After minutes of consideration, Asdrubael looked to his trusted lieutenant and asked, "What pitiful leadership commands these cultists?"

"A Sorcerer, my lord".

"One who knows the powers of chaos, yet does not respect my strength, nor obey my whims." The Lord considered a moment longer. "This fledgling aspirant has already grown too complacent to rank among my armies, arrogant with but one victory. I shall not tolerate him. Brezhart?"

"Yes, my Lordship?" she asked, hope for another slaughter so soon after the last growing in her voice.

"Prepare sacrifices, while the cultists occupy themselves with their looting, we shall seek a more appropriate manner to conscript warriors," the Lord decreed.

"As you wish, my Lord. To which god shall these slaves be offered?"

The Chaos Lord felt a prick upon his greyed and damned flesh, where the mark of a certain God perched, though this mark was subject to change. The Lord chuckled, relishing his connection to the dark powers and spoke: "A betrayal such as this can only be complete with dedications to one God in particular…"

The Exalted Hero grinned, bearing a set of razor teeth, knowing she had her answer, "Very well my Lord, your sacrifices shall be ready at your command."

Hours passed and the Lord's patience waned, though it did not break; he knew it was only a matter of time before all the damned of this city would come to him. And come they did, at their head was a man cloaked in finery, wielding a staff of silver set with many jewels. In the hundreds they came, bearing gifts of the city's looted valuables; gold, weapons, food, drink, and other worldly things. The cloaked man presented himself and bowed, though not nearly low enough for Asdrubael's liking.

"Greetings, most destructive one," the creature began, "I am the Sorcerer Verice, and I am ultimately responsible for your ease of entry into the city."

Chaos Lord Asdrubael was not blind to the implications the Sorcerer made, that he and his madmen were the ones that felled this fortress. The first words out of the wretch's mouth were of disrespect and, frankly, suicidal delusions of power cloaked in politeness and courtesy. Asdrubael was not impressed by politeness or courtesy. His expression remained one of neutral ambivalence.

"Fine words, Sorcerer, your cult did open the gates and arrest the responses of the common city guards. It was my warriors, however, that felled the dogs of Sigmar that your fanatics, in their numbers, could not shift. But the gods do not care for our petty struggle for glory, and their will is above all others. What have you brought as sacrifices?"

The Sorcerer seemed unaffected by Asdrubael's rebuff, though eagerness made its way onto the old man's face at the mention of the gods. "We have brought many treasures taken by point of sword from all across the city, and we offer them all for the glory of the gods!" Spittle flicked wildly from the man's mouth as he proclaimed his offering.

In truth, the Sorcerer had ignored the Asdrubael's warriors that appeared after his betrayal of his neighbors in favor of looting the city, knowing the Chaos Lord disrespected them. He also did not fear them, thinking that getting a head start on gathering treasures to offer the gods would grant him their favor over the ignorant brute that lead them. He believed that in showering the gods with the spoils of his betrayal, they would see him victorious over the Chaos Lord should he attempt to assert his dominance.

The cultists hauled their spoils up into the citadel's ruins, placing them upon a profaned altar which sat in the center of the charnel pit the courtyard had become. First came chests, emptied into a mound of glittering gold. Then came sacks brimming with opulent jewels and ornate finery piled overtop the pillaged coin. Thereafter came mighty weapons, stolen from the city's defenders and placed reverently aside the growing pile. Evermore they came, pouring the wealth of the city into a growing hoard until it obscured most of the Chaos Lord's sight.

"My, what impressive spoils you have brought, Verice. Surely such riches will impress the gods, and show your endless devotion" The Chaos Lord drawled sarcastically.

"If my offering is so pitiful," the sorcerer wailed petulantly, "then where lie your gifts then? What do you present to the gods for their favor, that can so easily oustrip my own?"

The front gates of the city, preserved from the chaos warriors' wrath and closed again for fear of what wandered the mad realm of Chaos, shuddered with sudden impact. The cultists turned in alarm, many whimpering fearfully. The Sorcerer's head turned in terror, the fear he harbored of chaos laid bare. Verice's head snapped back to his rival as the Chaos Lord began to answer:

"Oh? My gift? Why it is far greater and far more valuable than this meagre pile of trinkets and baubles. While you and your coven of rats devoured this city, attempting to steal away the glory of this victory, I have made an accordance."

The booms grew louder and more insistent, each strike driving the cultists further into alarm and panic, until a great crack signified the failure of the staunch gates to prevent madness from flowing in. The Sorcerer wildly gesticulated, attempting to summon the magics granted to him by his evil patron, but found them absent.

Amused by the Sorcerer's failure and his horror at being stripped of his power, Asdrubael laughed cruelly and proclaimed "You know not the will of the gods, nor what they truly want. Though they might have given you power, you chosen patron has found more pleasure in your downfall than your gifts and has granted me the privilege of seeing your failure up close."

Asdrubael raised his arms, both in supplication; "For my gift is not gold, or weapons, but your very lives!"

At these words, twisted creatures of the realms of chaos fell on the cultists from behind. Warped animals, bearing the shape of men but features of goats and bulls tore into the betrayed fools with wild, savage abandon. Gore flew into the air as the first of the cultists were ripped into fleshy paste, an orgy of violent victims attempted to press into the citadel, fleeing the Beastmen's wild wrath, but found only the cold, unrelenting steel of the chaos warriors preventing their escape. The armored host laughed, bellowed and jeered as they killed, entertained by the cruel end that had been orchestrated for these lowly lickspittles.

Verice, never the picture of sanity to begin with, glimpsed glimpsed the gnashing, bloodied face of his fate and lost all that remained of his mind. Falling to his knees and grasping his skull in his hands, Verice wailed and howled, much like the beasts that were quickly butchering his followers. When the last of the cultists fell like the fearful cattle they were, the broken Sorcerer was still rolling about on the ground, frothing at the mouth. His squirming ceased when a cloven hoof met his chest, and a crude axe met his skull. The bloodsoaked beast presented itself, its body the peak of warped and unholy strength, and brayed a challenging roar at the reclined Chaos Lord, ignoring the man he had just slain.

Asdrubael rose, lifting his sword blessed with burning thirst of the gods, and met the massive Wargor with his own roar. Afterall, there were no words that could be spoken to such an animal. The only language it spoke was blood.

Despite both of their roars, neither rushed to meet their opponent brashly, rather circling each other in the space that had opened up for their duel. The Chaos Lord raised his sword, aiming the point towards the Beastman and simply observed his opponent, waiting for the inevitable charge. The creature waited for a time, trying to gauge the threat of its foe; before long it had lost patience for the bloodless dance, raised its two axes and threw itself at its opponent.

Its speed was surprising, considering its size-he towered a full head even over the hulking, seven-foot-tall Chaos Lord. The Wargor attempted to bring both its weapons down on Asdrubael, who dodged the left strike while parrying the other, correctly guessing the stronger of the Beastman's arms, making a cut to the creature's abdomen as he passed. The sword dug into its ribcage and passed out through the side, eliciting a howl of pain from the hairy-horned murderer. The beast reacted well though, lashing out to the side with its hoof and catching the Chaos Lord, knocking him back and earning some space.

The wound the Wargor now sported was shallow-it seemed to barely take notice of the cut as it turned back to the recovering Asdrubael. Enraged at failing to draw first blood, the animal charged with no sense of caution or reason, nearly goring the Lord with its massive curling horns.

Asdrubael threw himself to the side, narrowly escaping an ignoble death, only to receive two eyefuls of dirt thrown by the dishonorable creature. Surprised, but hearing the imminent assault of the Wargor, Asdrubael did not throw himself aside or get caught on its horns, but instead knelt and pointed his thirsting weapon towards the beast as it charged. Unable to arrest its momentum or swiftly change course, the Beastman was guided as though by fate onto the waiting steel of Asdrubael's sword.

The sword had pierced through the head of the Wargor, running through the thick skull of the animal thanks to the speed at which it threw itself onto the point of the weapon. It died instantly, thudding to a stop over Asdrubael. The Chaos Lord threw the corpse aside and rose to meet the beastman horde. They stomped and brayed with shock at their mightiest warrior's death to a mere human, even one blessed by their own spiteful gods. Only one of their numbers did not snort and scream, a shriveled animal that made its way to the victorious warrior slowly, offering no signs of aggression.

Old, with gnarled horns and heavily weathered skin, the beast presented itself. It and its kin wore little in the way of clothes, but the limited loincloths it did wear were strung with fetishes and foul idols. This was clearly what passed for a shaman amongst the beasts, and it likely communed with the gods on their behalf.

The creature brayed loudly, silencing the cries of its fellows. It grunted and spat, seemingly speaking to its simpler kin before turning back to the Chaos Lord.

"You. Man-flesh, kill Blood-Drinker," it said before it turned back towards its kin, "Blood-Drinker, forgets Gods, thinks he better then they, too good for gods! Man-flesh, stronger than Blood-Drinker. See circles? Remembers Gods, is stronger!"

The other beasts looked about on the ground and saw through what little space was not obscured by dead cultists that indeed, the markings of the gods had been etched on the ground, marks they had not seen in many moons. Ears were flicked and cloven-hooves began to stamp, they were getting impatient.

Asdrubael, also getting impatient, finally addressed the horde himself: "Here, on this day, you have seen the strongest of you laid to waste. Not through any fault of his own; by all rights, I should lie dead upon the ground and he should feast on my remains."

Their ears perked up as he finished his sentence; it seemed many of the beasts agreed with his words. Blood-Drinker had never faltered in his strength, and not a single one of their number could ever challenge his might.

"However, your master was not without failure. He fought, and slaughtered, and gorged himself on the meat of his enemies, but he also forgot what he was: a slave to the gods!"

The beastmen grew irritated at this. They knew Blood-Drinker had strayed, but he brought them much meat and many victories despite this, until now. They also hated to be called slaves by a man, even one who was as much a slave as they were.

"I have proven not only that I am stronger, but that the Ruinous Powers guide me! I am a worthier master than this fool could ever be," he said, kicking the lump of flesh that was once his opponent, "Follow me, and I will lead you to greater glories than Blood-Drinker could ever hope to bring you!"

Asdrubael's warriors, who bore a stoic silence until this moment, clashed their swords against their shields, bellowing out their support for their warlord. The Shaman also cried out his support. Whipped into a frenzy by the Chaos Lord's words and the cheering of his warriors, the beasts cried out as well, accepting their new master. The largest among them, the Minotaurs, bellowed first; gore-hungry and anxious to get to the feasting, they accepted a new master readily so long as they could gorge themselves on the flesh of the men beneath their hooves. Then, the Gors brayed deafeningly into the mad, pulsing sky, made eager by the promise of rising even further in the gods' esteem. From further behind them came the cries of the Ungor-though they were weak and wretched in comparison with their larger brethren, their number made up for their pitiful cries.

Satisfied with his new army, Asdrubael turned to the Shaman, "All in accordance with our pact, beast. I am glad you were at least smart enough for this."

Snorting, the beast turned away from the warlord, moving to join its kin in their revelry. It was satisfied as well with this conclusion, for it did not hold so strongly a hatred of men as its brothers and was left in a far more influential position in the warherd than before. No longer would its words be ignored and its advice be spurned, but instead he would be looked to first when the beasts lacked for guidance. If he needed to serve a human to and betray his master to guide his herd according to the Gods' will, then so be it.

With the formation of this pact between man and beast, a new dark power formed in the ruins of the once-proud bastion of Thunderdeep. An army of malevolent hatred rose in unity against all that which is good in the realms, and another bulwark against that creeping madness was unmade. Armies fell and rose, great champions were made only to fall the next moment. Betrayal, bloodshed, madness, and debauchery of the lowest order were merely the norm for the hateful slaves of Chaos.


End file.
